on February 8, 2012 by Mitchel Jonas in Poetics, Comments (0)

It Settles

Ask the dust
Like Fante chasing a cat
Like Papa in Key West
Gnawing guts like
Lynch Hung
Listen to Christopher
Indeed, God is not great
Hitchens, not Walken
Poking you with a soldering iron
Walking through the halls
Of MIT you hear
The echoing voice of
Chomsky speaking on
Linguistics or
As the dust settles
From the 1800s
Into the 1900s
The fantasy of
Greatness subsides
We have become the bully
Who no one likes
Though the empire indeed
Has a vast system of
Some fighting others
Degenerative interests
Paying off others
My grandpa told me
Never, ever trust so-called
He lived through the
Great depression
He saw hard times
He hated cops
Bread lines
Train lines
Used as transport
Dirt ball as sport
Eating wild rabbit
Shot game in 1940s North Sacramento
For food
Ask Fante about
Bunker Hill
If you could’ve
The reality upon us now is
We are wallowing in shit
It will hit the fan
People anguish
In discomfort


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